The Five Senses of Will and Djaq
by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley
Summary: sight, touch, smell, listening, and voice all add to their attraction to one another


**Sight:**

When she first laid eyes on him she could not take her eyes off of him. It was as if she was compelled to look at this boy for all eternity. A small ignorant part of her had wondered if he had casted some spell on her with his own eyes for he seemed to be equally unable to take his eyes off of her.

She sat there silently in her cage as the English men spoke around her, plotting, making decisions for her and her fellow men, arguing, not bothering to ask what she wanted, while this one young boy kept staring at her. There was an intense attraction, she will admit, but there is nothing else for he is an English pig and she was a Saracen girl masquerading as a boy.

Will had been open for an adventurous day ever since he joined Robin in the forest each day had been an adventure though some a little more boring and mundane than the others when they were simply delivering food. Catching a slave trader and plotting a plan to end one of the Sheriff's main incomes was more interesting than running from stupid guards when delivering food in Nottingham. However Will didn't expect to find someone so...so..._interesting_, seemed to be the right word. He could hardly take his eyes off the Saracen boy who was far younger than him and glaring defiantly at them all.

He had never seen a Saracen before but he knew immediately that this one was one of the most beautiful of them all. The other men in the cage did not share this one's high cheek bones, wide big deep dark eyes, soft, slightly fuller lips, or deeper richer tone of skin colour. He was barely listening to the world around him as he stared at the boy.

He was fairly sure later on that Robin knew that Will never believed that superstition nonsense of 'Turk Flu'. He was even surer that Robin was aware that Djaq was a girl the moment they had met. He was definitely sure that Robin knew Will was having a conflicted moment as he questioned his own sexuality while staring at Djaq as the others debated what to do with the mines and slaves.

Robin was cruel like that.

**Touch:**

As the Physician of the group Djaq had to touch every single man in the camp when they were injured. She was used to having Much whinging and crying when she prodded his bruises and stitched up his cuts, Allan cursed like a sailor, John was motionless, and Robin chatted to her friendly and calm with the occasional hiss of pain. She was unaffected about touching them; it was touching Will that changed everything.

There was a more intensity when she touches him which was not rare moments because he constantly cuts his hands while carving and though she usually has to force him to admit it (he was prideful and too considerate as he never wanted to bother her for some ointment). His hands were rough and calloused and so very big but she loved them all the same because they were so gentle she uses his cuts all the time as an excuse to hold his hand for a moment. She knows this is wrong especially when she refuses to treat Much when he cuts his hand cooking. When he had once bruised his ribs in a fight she revelled in the moment of taking his rough wool shirt off and gently touching those strong muscles while applying salve on them. His skin was softer on his belly than it was on his hands and his lovely muscles tighten at her touch as he lets out a very soft hiss...

The moments when they celebrate they are alive and hug one another are her most precious moments because it's when she feels him against her completely. She rests her head on his strong shoulder, feels his wonderful warm arms around her, as she holds him to her, her hands clenching onto his shirt.

Sometimes she swears she could almost feel his lips ghost her forehead.

**Scent:**

The men in her gang _stank._

It was disgusting and rank with all the sweat, blood, and other unmentionable smells. Sure there is no soap, they give most of their stolen goods away and what little they keep goes to food, weaponry, and clothes. But still, _they reek_!

Even Will though she does not mind his smell. For some reason she can bare his sweat tainted scent and sometimes leans in to take a whiff of him when they are embracing. There was something undefined, different, wonderful, sweet, just plainly _Will _about his scent.

And it drives her wild.

She smells like the forest. Her constant use of herbs and flowers for her medicines had given her a constant perfume of clashing flowers. It makes his head spin and sends him straight into a daze when he catches the merest whiff of her. The evergreen plants, the wildflowers, the herbs such as St John's Wart and Lavender, and spices that Much uses in his cooking and she steals for some other uses were all there. There was always a slightly new smell every time they were together.

He takes every opportunity he is given to become intoxicated by her. it has become quite problematic when it leads to him being captured due to his sluggish reactions, a prime example would be when they hid behind a fence together and all he could smell was the juniper she had been using in a herbal remedy and then she suddenly jumps up and grabs a horse and he's left trying to free his own horse while he was thinking about how soft her hair must be.

She tries desperately to drown out the smell of sweaty men in her bunk. She places lavender and rosemary and wild flowers all over the place to give the camp a sweet smell all it does is causes him to dream of her at night and cause Much to sneeze, John's eyes to water, and Allan to complain how girly it is.

He fears she will drive him insane with just her scent alone.

**Hearing:**

She was a good listener. She listened to him when he was grieving for his father, when he was worried about his brother, and when he just wanted to say something and no one else would listen (because let's face it Much drowns everyone out with his fears and worries). She listened to him intently and he is sometimes speechless at the intense look in her deep dark eyes as she watches his lips mouth and her expression changes by the slightest hint at each word said.

Sometimes when he feels particularly depressed and is opening up about something painful like his parents' deaths she would cross that space between them and cup his cheek with her very soft cold hand. He always leans in and places a hand over it, capturing her hand so she could not draw back, she has never protested about that. He is always thankful for the confidant he has in her.

He is the perfect listener. He never interrupts, he waits until there has been a small pause just in case she has an afterthought to add, and he only corrects her English if she is truly struggling to find a word. He sits close to her sometimes as if he is afraid to miss a single word she would say and she would be content simply by the warmth he provides her. His eyes are always fixed upon her face as if he was taking in every expression she makes, occasionally they would drift to her hands if she was using them to make a gesture or the hunch of her shoulder but never have they drifted to her chest like Allan's does.

Sometimes when she touches upon a distressing topic he wraps an arm round her shoulders and holds her to his chest which was not broad and big like one would expect a man's to be but perfectly sized for her to lay her head on and have room to place a hand beside her cheek as she secretly returns to embrace. He would hold her if she was upset and comfort her by running a hand through her short hair and murmuring soft words that she could not always hear but it did not matter because she just loved the sound of his deep voice and the feel of his chest vibrating as he speaks.

They would soon realise that their good listening skills is the foundation of their strong relationship.

**Voice:**

He loved her silly voice.

He curses himself silently later when he declares this in his confession just before they die. He did not mean to insult her but he could not think how he could describe her exotic accent that added musical lilts to her words or how her voice ranged into a deep baritone to a high pitched squeak depending on how she was feeling or how hard she was trying to disguise her girlish qualities. He had never meant to insult her only to find the perfect adjective for her interesting, complex, unique voice.

He was no scribe after all, only the carpenter.

He loves hearing her sing when she thinks no one is listening, to hear her murmur in Arabic when she is thinking to herself, the exotic unique words are almost poetic, and most of all he loves to hear her shout and cry out when she was fighting like a man. There was something both strong and masculine yet feminine and pretty about it all. He loved every aspect of her voice it was part of her identity and her strength.

To be honest he just loved everything about her.

Djaq does not confess her love for his voice though she does indeed love it. He rarely uses it so she treasures every moment she gets to hear the deepness of it, the strength of it, the beauty of it, and the emotions rich within it.

She does confess this love for his voice though. She confesses how she hangs on to his every word though she might not agree with them. She confesses how she listens contently to his humming when he is carving. She confesses she listens worriedly for any sound that would suggest pain so she can be quick to heal him – and get to have another chance at touching him. She embarrassedly, as her cheeks burn as she makes this confession, confesses to eavesdropping on him when he is in bed, to listen to every moan, grunt, and cry when he is relieving himself of his tension or merely dreaming.

This particular confession leads to another bout of love making on their wedding night as she takes the opportunity to memorise every moan, grunt, growl, and cry he makes.


End file.
